New and Interesting
by parasitic
Summary: sequel to RNP. AU, yaoi, BDSM, blood. Mello and Matt's happy new life begins to spiral downward. Can they recover? Or is a broken relationship, broken bones, and a broken budget all there is left for them?


Matt smirked. "Maybe I haven't had enough new and interesting yet," he replied slyly.

Mello frowned, his eyes alight, and Matt was scared just for a moment that Mello was going to try to kill him again. Maybe push him down the stairs, or impale him on the handrail... Mello's fingers, slim and nimble, pushed him gently backward until his shoulderblades met the wall and kissed him - not the peck from before, but more. It was like Matt's dream coming true. When they broke, Matt stood steady, caught his breath, and smiled. He ran for the door at the top of the stairs, Mello chasing him, grabbing at his shirt, laughing. That magical laugh.

Matt dashed to their apartment, and they struggled briefly at the door, Matt playfully trying to shut it on Mello. Eventually, Mello got his way. He pushed Matt through the room, and suddenly it was like they were lions playing instead of humans - like Mello was no longer quite playing. He shoved Matt bodily to the bed and fell after him, mouthing at his neck and collarbone, tugging at Matt's hair, as they tumbled together and snickered in unadulterated joy. Giggles dissolved into growls of pleasure. Matt's turn came when Mello allowed himself to roll over into submission and be pushed under the gamer and his roaming hands. Nonetheless, he pushed Matt's shirt up under his arms, leaving his sensitive nipples unguarded so that the blonde could lap at them, happy as a kitten with cream. Matt practically purred, but he wouldn't give up. He unzipped Mello's top and laid a hand on his chest to push him down so that Matt could do the same to him. Mello let loose a soft, throaty moan, involuntarily raising his knees. Soon enough Matt had Mello out of his jeans and at his mercy, administering slow, gentle strokes to his member. Mello was permitting him, was trusting him, and to Matt that was exhilarating, if not a bit empowering. He beheld Mello's wanton face and pinking body, and he was beautiful. Mello pulled him down with his arms around Matt's shoulders, demanding a kiss, this one quite similar to the last one, deep and tender.

Each time they had made love thus far, it became less forceful, less demanding, slower, gentler, more loving and generous. It stole Matt's breath away every time Mello looked at him like that... like he was the best thing. Like if the world burned down right now, they wouldn't care, because they had one another. Matt couldn't stop staring and thinking, even as Mello cried out and came. He exhaled deeply and leaned over to delicately kiss the blonde's mouth and face.

"Mello," Matt sighed. He had something very important to say. Mello opened his eyes to stare up at him. Their eyes met, and the look they shared at that moment was heartfelt. Nevertheless, Matt was a little frightened by what he was going to admit to Mello as well as to himself. "I think I love you."

Mello took a deep breath, reaching out to clasp Matt's broad hand in his own, and smiled softly. "I think I love you, too."

"Your boy is in the news again today."  
When Mello pouted from the bed, Matt thought he was being particularly immature today. "What's he done now? Cured cancer? Brought health care to millions for just pennies a day? Has he won the Nobel Prize yet?" He was being sarcastic of course, but he was probably correct in the predictive sense.  
"Your pick," was Matt's return jab as he lit up.  
"I choose health care." Mello paused, his face contorted in perplexedness under his mussed golden hair. "I think." Matt turned off his game, tapped off his ash, and kissed him. When they broke with a quiet pop, Mello pulled on the back of the brunette's shirt, holding him down. "Stay here," he demanded softly. So Matt stayed.  
More kisses and cuddles were exchanged, and skin tingled warmly with gentle touches. It was usual morning-after fare, quiet and content, but always tempting more of the same; a spiritual, emotional, and physical limbo wherein time stood still as long as neither of them left the bed or pushed back the covers to the chilly air, or even escalated their loving gestures into another round of passionate sex.  
"Matt, turn on the television."  
"Now?"  
"I want to see the news."  
"But you always want to see the news. It's always the news. Our TV is always on the news."  
"Would anything else be intelligent enough for you? Or do you prefer to turn your brain to mush?"  
"Is it so wrong to like cartoons?" Matt looked smug.  
Mello's smirk bordered on malicious, but it was meant to be one of satisfaction. "It is when you're a genius," he said, and he laid his hand over Matt's on the TV remote to push down his thumb on the power button.  
Nate's dead eyes in his little albino head peered disturbingly back at him from the screen as the anchor's super-pleasant voice narrated, "Nate Rivers, child prodigy, recently deduced a formula that will allow police officers to locate and apprehend criminal organizations throughout the LA area..." Mello's stare would have been penetrating if Nate were actually there to see it. It gave Matt the shivers. The brunette was unreceptive until he saw Mello's eyes widen, and when the anchor's voice regained his attention, he couldn't believe his ears. "... Local lounge owner Rod Ross made his final martini last night; he passed away this morning of unknown causes. Ross was 41 years old and healthy. Foul play is suspected, and the case is currently under investigation. The funeral is already scheduled for one week from today, and all are welcome." Mello's face looked strained as he flopped the covers away from his body and stumbled to the dining table where the newspaper lay. His fingers unconsciously hurried to the obituaries, ripping the flimsy newsprint in their wake. There he read in simple Roman font the name "Rod Ross."  
Matt nearly jumped out of his skin when Mello threw the paper like a thunder clap and roared, "Dammit!" It had been weeks since Matt saw him so upset. Ever since they started living together, Mello was docile as a newborn kitten (though more like a hellcat in bed), and Matt was quite comfortable with that.  
Mello had lost a job, lost his financial support, and nearly lost his sense as well. He was so unreceptive to his surroundings that he had broken a glass and burned his hand on a hot pan. Finally Matt told him to get out of the kitchenette and let him do the meal preparation. Earlier, Mello had gone to the mail box and retrieved a letter. The letter instructed him to attend Rod's will execution after the funeral. "This is why we don't stay in more," Mello said to Matt, as though admonishing him, as if somehow the fact that they'd taken a day off was the reason Rod had passed away. Yet they still stayed in the rest of the week. They didn't have anything else to do.

Mello didn't want to go to the funeral. Matt didn't see much reason for he himself to attend, either, so they didn't go at all. Matt drove Mello to the will execution. He stayed in the car and chain-smoked while Mello made his way to the lawyer's office, practically dressed to the nines in fur coat and sunglasses. Suddenly the man's closet full of black clothes was startlingly appropriate. Matt waited in thought.  
His cell phone rang, the tune bubbly and peculiar for the mood. "Hello?" he answered. "Oh... I see." There was disappointment in his voice, but a flash of relief was in his eyes. Yet still it was pushed aside by a tide of worry. Now what?  
It was a long and dull hour of synth-pop and mediocre lyrics in the car speakers when Mello finally emerged from the building. It was hard to tell with sunglasses blocking the view, but his expression looked grave. Matt let him back into the passenger's seat, and Mello pushed the glasses up to the top of his head. His voice came serious from his throat as he said, "I got the lounge." He barely smiled. "And a lot of money."  
Matt looked at him in concern. "How much money?"  
Mello kissed him chastely. "Enough."  
The gamer gulped. "I dunno, man." Mello looked at him expectantly. He took a deep breath and sighed. "I just got fired."  
"Fired?!" Mello yelped. "How? But you're... like the best!"  
Matt shrugged, but it was self-conscious. His face said that the only reason he was shrugging was because he was too humiliated to come up with anything else to say. "It's not about skill. It's about money. They can't pay me. And I've missed my quota. And they think I'm too critical." Matt leaned his forehead against his arms, rested on top of the steering wheel. "They aren't selling enough games because, like I said before, they're crappy. They don't have enough money to make good games. So my reviews are insulting. My bet is they'll go bankrupt by the end of the year. That's why they laid me off." Mello sighed through his nose and started to get out of the car. "Hey! Why are you leaving?"  
"I need to think about this." Mello blew a kiss and pulled his glasses back down. "You can go home."  
Matt shook his head, but pulled out of his space anyway. He wasn't sure Mello was in the right state to know what exactly he was doing, so Matt drove around the block.  
There was something soothing in the rhythmic click of his heels on the pavement, the rumble of automobiles coming from the one-way street to the right of him. They were now a single-income household. Rent was still the same, just that he was paying for both of them now. And he still had the revenue from the lounge. The work would be harder because he would be paying employees, but really it would be more fun for him to do the bookkeeping. Time really wasn't an issue, if the work was enjoyable.  
He heard a car pull up alongside him, and a whistle from one of the inhabitants. He glanced sideways without turning around and recognized two young men in the car. "Hey babe!" they crowed, "Whatcha charge?" Mello raised his middle finger at them, still facing forward. One of them chuckled, but the other persisted, "Seriously, can I buy ya a drink? You got a man?"  
Matt was driving two cars back and trying not to slam on the breaks and pound their faces in. He was forced to be obedient to the driving laws for now. Meanwhile the men kept heckling Mello for his attention. The car in front of Matt pulled over into the next lane to the right and sped off; obviously the driver was annoyed with the men in front as well. The gamer did not hesitate in filling up the empty space between their cars. Matt almost had to laugh. They really, actually thought Mello was a woman! Mello had to hold his breath and keep a straight face, but Matt was revving his engine at them as though telling them to hurry up. The men gestured and yelled at him to pass, but he just kept tailgating. "Back off!" "She's ours!" "We saw her first!" Finally Mello couldn't take it anymore. He walked over to the womanizers' car and leaned down into the window, announcing in his very masculine voice, "That's my man there. See ya," before stepping into Matt's car. The anonymous men, mortified by the realization that such a pretty girl was in fact male and they had been hitting on him, turned as soon as they reached an intersection, but not before Matt had waved at them several times and made vulgar gestures at them. He and Mello laughed all the way home.

Mello sat in bed again, sucking at a square of chocolate as he worried over his paperwork. He would have to fill all this out before he took it back to the lawyer and signed it in order to gain ownership of the lounge. Meanwhile, Matt was free from his dream-job-turned-nightmare... but it felt too strange to Matt to not have a job at all. Mello could support them both for a while, but Matt being employed was preferable. And Rod was dead.  
Matt was playing an RPG on the television console, and it was distracting, to say the least. This game didn't just have moving pictures and shiny bursts of energy, but it had numbers, too. Numbers everywhere, representative of all different values. It was fascinating to decipher them all; far more fascinating than the paperwork, but it hurt Mello's head to stare at it so long. And Nate was a genius, and Rod was dead. "Matt, turn that off," he demanded softly. Matt did so and turned to lean his chin on the foot of the bed, staring cutely up at the blonde. Mello snickered. "I have to work on this for a while, Matty, but then you can do whatever you want." The gamer smiled.  
Matt had fallen asleep by the time Mello decided he was done for the day. He was curled up against Mello's side, and Mello was petting his hair when he woke, and he was quite enjoying it. "You done?" Matt asked him. He nodded. Matt lay for a few minutes, Mello's fingers brushing his hair back, before he said, "There's no way Nate is as pretty as you are."  
Mello chuckled. "Shut up."  
"No, really. Those guys knew you were pretty." They laughed.  
After dinner, Matt watched Mello as he painted his fingernails. "I told you you could do what you wanted, Matt," he said.  
Matt shrugged. "I like watching you. And I have to wait until they dry."  
"You're a dork."  
"We met because of nail polish, you know."  
Mello stopped and stared at him. "You're right. But you're still a dork."  
"Hm."  
Matt picked at the blanket for a while before Mello announced, "They're dry. What did you want to do?"  
"You."  
"Dork."

The lounge was finally Mello's. He would be in charge of the reopening. He made sure the building was clean and called all the employees back to work. He didn't need to be smarter than Nate. He was successful.  
For the rest of the week after reopening on Monday, things were stable, until it came time to pay the bills. Friday, Mello was writing check after check, but he was beginning to notice a pattern. There were names, addresses, and companies on the payment list that were not on the supplier list or the employee payroll. They seemed to be randomly scattered in among legitimate suppliers. Against his better judgement, he continued writing the checks and addressing envelopes. However, he resolved to write down all the names.

"Whatcha up to?" Matt queried, peering over Mello's shoulder at his laptop screen as he scooted onto the bed next to his lover.  
Mello's voice was low and forboding as he answered, "I'm looking up some places. Apparently I'm paying people who don't exist."  
Matt's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'don't exist'?"  
"I mean there's no reason I can see that I should be giving them The Soiree's money. Like why should a lounge owe eight-hundred dollars a month to a chemical company in Texas when the lounge is barely scraping by in the first place, for example?"  
The brunette grew ever more suspicious. "Chemicals? Really? Not for makin' martinis, that's for sure."  
Still looking at the screen, Mello pressed his lips together and nodded. "Unless they're martinis of death. Hell..."  
In his online search, Mello discovered that about half of the suspicious businesses on his list did not have company websites, and the ones that did didn't list physical storehouse or shopfront addresses and weren't on any yellow-page websites. This did not mean yet that they were all fictional, but Mello was still uncertain of their legitimacy. He decided to send them all a letter and await the results.  
It was a simple letter, a very cordial and business-like notice of the change in ownership. Mello had no intention of betraying his insecurities to them, lest he be in an unsafe position. He didn't want Matt involved, and he mostly kept him out of it, though he was all too willing to help, since Mello was also busy with schoolwork. Instead, Mello kept encouraging Matt to get a new job.  
He'd already applied everywhere in a fifteen-mile radius, and no place had called him back yet. He chalked it up to the poor economy. Besides that, he didn't exactly have sparkling credentials; he never went to college, and the only other place he had worked besides Sword & Shield was McDonald's (which was deep-fried Hell, in his opinion, though it didn't help matters that his boss made him be the Hamburglar at parties). With his skills, S&S was about the only place he could get by, unless maybe the Geek Squad or the like hired him. He didn't really push his name, either. But what other job would give him the benefits and advantages that he had with S&S? He liked being able to work from home, to keep to himself, and to make his own schedule. As soon as he went out into the job market, his perfect life would be shot down. Then again, it wasn't quite so perfect in practice... but it was as close as it could get. Mello and overjustification had already thwarted his chances at peaceful independence. And now that Mello was carrying him... Well, it hurt his pride more than anything else.  
"Matt," called the blonde, shattering his reverie. The gamer looked up only to receive Mello in his lap moments later, slender arms wrapping around his neck to cradle his shaggy head. Mello smirked in self-satisfaction, snuggling close, melting through Matt's awkward tension. "Matty, where are you?" Mello asked in a tone of amusement.  
"Whaddya mean?" Matt asked. "I'm right here."  
Mello snickered, nuzzling. "I mean your brain."  
Matt smiled, a pang of playfulness tumbling them over so that Mello was on his back as Matt declared, "It's in my head, genius."  
"Oh, so you took your biology lesson, did you?" Mello jeered, hooking his knees over Matt's shoulders and using the strength of his legs to push Matt back into a sitting position. Mello sat up as well and lowered his legs, leaning in cockily. "Now, you think you're hot stuff, don't you?"  
"Aren't I?" Matt retorted. "You melt when I walk into the lounge..." Mello laughed at Matt's words, as though they were ridiculous. But they were true. And right now it was taking all his resolve just to keep a straight face and not look like he felt - goofily grinning, gloriously, deliriously in love.  
Mello ruffled Matt's hair, letting a finger trail down the side of his face, and stood. "Fix me some dinner, Hot Stuff," he ordered as he left. "It should be easy to cook it with your body heat, right?" While it was true that Mello was supposed to stay out of the kitchen, it actually seemed to Matt that Mello had his groove back. Begrudgingly, Matt headed for the kitchen.

On Monday, about a week later, Mello woke up and patted Matt's hip, announcing, "It's Monday." He climbed out of the bed and Matt cringed at the cold air that hit his naked back when Mello lifted the covers.  
The gamer rolled out of bed after him and complained, "I hate Mondays."  
Mello chuckled as he began to get dressed. "Why?" he asked. "You don't work anymore, and you don't go to school. I should be the one who hates Mondays. I do both."  
Matt hated to get up. How he longed to wrap up in that comforter again and snuggle back against his pillow and his beautiful blonde. "Because," he murmured, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, "you have to go to school and to work. I wish we could just stay here and sleep in all the time. Isn't that what living together is supposed to be like?"  
Again, Mello laughed. "Well, that's not all there is to living together."  
"When I was working I didn't hate Mondays. It's not like I had to go into the office or anything. In high school I hated Mondays because they were boring and I had to get up early. Why am I up again?"  
"To say goodbye to your sexy boyfriend. I assume that means you have no intentions of making breakfast."  
"Hell, no." Matt dropped back onto his pillow.  
Mello, half-clothed in black jeans, bounced back onto the bed and straddled him to steal a kiss. "I hated Mondays in high school, too," he confided. "They were always the same."

Mello took the key from his pocket and opened the second door to The Soiree for the first time that day. As usual, a stack of envelopes was waiting for him on the opposite side of the door. He gathered up the pile to flip through them as he turned on the regular light (a plain white bulb instead of the colored lights, that was used during opening and cleanup) and headed for the back room. Water bill, electricity bill, food shipment bill, food shipment bill... letter. This envelope was different, with scrawled letters and tiny stains. There were two more like it. He set aside the stack of bills and paced the back room as he opened the first envelope. He recognized the name inside as one of the false companies that he wrote checks to earlier in the month. It was a response to his notice. "We regret to hear the news of Mr. Ross' death . . . condolences . . . will send a representative . . ." A representative? Why would they send a representative? " . . . to evaluate your status and determine your aptitude for the position you seek to gain." What? He opened the other two envelopes, the letters in which said approximately the same thing as the first.  
Mello was both confused and angry. It sounded as though they dare usurp him of his legal ownership of the lounge. And Mello didn't like it one bit when someone tried to take what belonged to him. He wrote yet another letter, restating his situation and questioning their understanding of it. Of course he did this as kindly and politely as possible.  
"Matt... I think we might be in trouble."

They were a frightened pile of blankets, twisted together in tense, heated air. Lips met frantically and fingers touched, sliding down onto palms and wrists. Hearts pounded in passion and in fear, through the boundaries of sternum and skin. Tangled, integrated, _They won't separate us, they won't separate us ever. No matter how hard they pull, they can never pull us apart.  
... But how strong are they?_

Repeated reaffirmations of existence eventually led to the mutual agreement that both Mello and Matt ought to acquire gun licenses. In the next few days, they applied for the licenses and visited two different gun shops. One of them was all modern arms models, and the other was essentially a pawn shop with a small selection of various firearms. All Matt wanted was something basic, something that would do the job without needing much maintenance or being too flashy, something that wouldn't kill him or blow off his arm when he tried to use it. Mello, on the other hand, took his time to browse and examine the appearance of each gun as well as its practical advantages. But more and more he liked the one that first appealed to him: an older model with a round barrel and ivory inlaid in the handle. It was pretty, and he was told it would work adequately. It had good weight, and - although Mello had worried otherwise - it was not terribly uncomfortable to hold. Matt knew Mello was smitten with the thing, and this knowledge admittedly made him a bit jealous.

The Soiree's reopening had been successful and business was better than ever. It seemed that absence really does make the heart grow fonder, though Mello still had his doubts. Considering that now that he and Matt were living together, and they hardly got a moment to themselves, sometimes they drove each other crazy, but Mello wouldn't have it any other way. He contemplated this as he prepared drinks at the bar, reveling in the curious stares he received from his patrons. One man in particular seemed to have become an instant repeat customer after seeing Mello for the first time. Since his first visit a few days ago, he had moved from the tables to the bar and come back each day since. Mello could feel the man's eyes boring into him as he shook the canister, acutely aware of the fact that the gesture was making his hips sway unintentionally. Suddenly he felt dirty, in need of a shower, to wash this man's gaze off of him. Yet some piece of him enjoyed the attention. He was not a wholly unattractive man, but he was an unknown, and unknowns could be dangerous.  
The man called him, "Ey, barista," beckoning Mello with a hand in the air.  
"What can I get you, sir?" the blonde asked in his most pleasant low register.  
The man's expression changed, but it was hardly noticeable. He'd done that the day before, as well, as if he had to be reminded that Mello was male. He asked for some kind of cocktail, Mello didn't really care what kind, and he began preparing it almost robotically, without processing. Normally he just made whatever the person struck him as wanting at that particular time, whatever fit their mood, but due to his distraction he wasn't sure about this man, and so made what he had ordered.  
When the drink was finished, he set it on the bar in front of the man. He took a sip, smiled, and nodded. When he left, he merely left the pay on the countertop.  
Matt came to meet Mello at the end of the night, from his little table in view of the bar, where he always sat if he felt like visiting Mello at work. Mello handed him his "Sex on the Bar," which other than water was his usual drink since the first time he'd come to The Soiree, inspired by Sex on the Beach but with berry juice and strawberries, and served in a martini glass. "That guy," he said with a good-natured chuckle, "is either hot on you or just really likes staring at your ass."  
"Isn't that the same thing?" Mello asked, greeting him with a quick kiss. Matt just shrugged.

Matt didn't have to ask to know that Mello was stressed. All the warning signs were there: his shoulders were tense, he seemed distracted, and his eyes were just that little bit manic. The gamer didn't want to set him off, so he played a handheld game on mute while Mello read.  
It was _Venus in Furs_. Matt had never heard of such a book, but the title led him to envision Mello on the night that they'd first visited Mello's club of choice. His heart thumped with the memory, but he stilled his breathing. He didn't want to bother Mello. But he turned, anyway. Matt paused his game. When Mello's icy eyes met his, it sent a chill down his spine. But instead of stepping toward Matt like he expected, Mello shut his book and headed for the closet. The fur coat from that night, from the will execution, slowly and softly draped itself over Mello's bare shoulders, caressing his skin and mingling with his silken hair as Matt watched, transfixed. "Wh-where are you going?" Matt asked him.  
Mello just turned and smiled, that self-satisfied smirk, that touch of insanity, and purred, "Nowhere, Matty. I'm going nowhere."  
Matt gulped, unable to help himself in his onset of uncertainty, and let the game drop - it was less important - as Mello started toward him.  
Gentle kisses turned to hard sucking and biting, leaving bruises along Matt's jaw, neck, and clavicles in Mello's wake. "You're mine, Matt..." the blonde whispered, not in a mean tone, but terrifyingly soft. "Mine." It seemed to Matt that his body and mind couldn't decide on what to feel, couldn't agree. He was scared, confused, and tremendously turned on, all at the same time. When Mello pawed up Matt's shirt and pushed it off his body, the fur that brushed his belly startled and aroused him. Still the blonde pushed him back to lay trails on Matt's torso and he kneaded the gamer's arousal through his jeans. Matt's soft moans escalated to a scream as Mello clawed down his chest, leaving furious tracks of red. The other hand opened Matt's fly and stroked him as Mello's tongue traced the scrapes, lapping up blood. The brunette tried to push him away, but Mello easily pushed his hands aside.  
Matt was panting, scared out of his wits and so concentrated on the pain that was being shoved aside by pleasure. He whimpered as Mello squeezed his balls, though he would never admit to it. He didn't know why, but he wanted something to bite down on. Suddenly Mello's hand fisted in his hair and he yelped, and the blonde flipped him over, already tugging on the back of his waistbands. When Matt's jeans and boxers were removed, he noted that Mello was still more than fully clothed. What was going on? Before he had time to think about it, Mello's belt came down on his backside, pain searing through him, and another cry was ripped from his throat. Mello's fingers were at his opening, preparing him. He was terrified, being violated in every way, taken over, being _owned_. And worst of all, he realized, he _wanted_ it. The fingers up his arse stroked his prostate as the belt came down again, sending a tidal wave of sensation through his body. When Mello finally undid his laces and pressed into him, and fur fell around him, blanketing him in softness that he was almost numb to but it was oh-so welcome, and Mello's tender, warm skin pressed against his burning back, Matt's eyes stung with tears in pain and in relief. The pain was over, but it had just begun, as endorphins rushed through him, sheltering his nerves from Mello's hips slamming against his abused backside. Mello's hand was tight around Matt's weeping cock, working skillfully even in his blind and monstrous lust, or maybe that was only what Matt perceived. Matt clutched the blankets and yelled out Mello's name as unimaginable pleasure drove through him and he came, and Mello immediately after, swiftly moving to kiss every inch above the shoulders of his brunette, his Matt whom he had claimed as his own. Sweat poured off of them and plastered their hair to their faces and necks, so Mello shirked his fur, and blessed cool air caressed their aching bodies as the coat slithered to the floor.  
"Matt," Mello moaned weakly, and Matt was allowed to turn over, though it hurt him terribly to do so. He saw that Mello was crying, too, before the rest of the night disappeared in kisses and darkness.

In the morning, Matt's endorphin defenses had worn off and he felt the full force of their escapade the night before. He could barely move, so Mello, overcome with guilt, spent every moment he could busying himself with caring for his wounds and feeding him. The blonde was horribly ashamed and was continuously apologizing for what he'd done. It broke Matt's heart. He couldn't seem to find the strength to tell him, "It's fine, I'll be okay," because he was just as upset. Honestly, he felt wronged. But he accepted Mello's care and his kisses when he offered them frequently, and spent much of the time smoking and playing Nintendo SP.  
Mello wanted desperately to curl close, to cradle Matt to him and show him affection, but he was too afraid to. He didn't want to hurt Matt any more than he already had. So he sat nearby, next to him on the bed. "Matt," he said softly. "I'm sorry."  
"Mm-hm."  
There was an awkward silence, during which Mello stared at Matt as he played his game, the blonde's face a portrait of sad eyes and a bitten lip. "I just wanted..." He forced a chuckle. "I know it's stupid."  
Matt didn't even glance up. "What is it?"  
"I'm scared, Matt. And I don't want to lose you."  
"So you thought it would be easier for everyone if you just killed me, instead."  
"No, Matt. No..." Mello felt like he was walking on eggshells. "Matt I... I wanted you... to be mine. I wanted to own you. I know it's crazy but I thought, maybe, if I could make you mine, I could keep you safe." He continued nervously, unsure if Matt was hearing him, "Do you understand what I mean? At all?"  
Matt looked up from his game. "Sorry, what?"  
Mello blinked. He'd just apologized, just bared his heart and soul and Matt wasn't _listening_? Fury began to coil in his chest. He clenched his fist and his teeth.  
"Mello!" Matt said quickly, having noticed his anger building. "Mello, I'm sorry. I was joking." He smiled, his gaze soft and endearing. He held up the SP; its screen was blank. "It's not even on right now. I was listening. I understand. In a twisted way." He gestured with his hand. "Come 'ere."  
Mello's anger seemed to fall through his throat and his heart seemed to grow in his chest in exchange. He leaned in and kissed Matt fully, lovingly, and spooned against him as he desired earlier. "So do you forgive me?"  
"No. I'm still mad at you." said Matt, and the blonde pouted. "But that's okay."

The next day, the same news channel broadcast the cause of Rod's death: poisoning. Mello sat glaring at the television, his legs dangling off the foot of the bed, as Matt sat watching him from just over the edge of the newspaper. He had been reading the classifieds, whereas the rest, with the article whose contents were currently being broadcast hidden within the pages, sat undisturbed on the bedside table. Matt had only been buying the paper to read the classified ads since he had been fired, so the two of them still gained most of their knowledge of current events from the television.  
The blonde's expression was dire, concentrated, as he licked at the bar of chocolate in his hand. The fact that Rod had been poisoned only heightened his paranoia, the same paranoia that had led them to buying their guns and that had led Mello to injure Matt in violent sex. He had to keep it in check. Just because somebody had killed Rod didn't mean that the same people were after him or Matt. When the news program had ended, Mello rose and walked to the head of the bed to give Matt his goodbye kiss.  
"I'm off to class," he breathed, the words ghosting across Matt's lips as he pulled away. Mello put on his jacket, gloves, and helmet as Matt warned him he'd be out job-hunting that day and sent him his farewell.

It was a Saturday. Mello's schedule was such that his day was full of classes, then it was off to The Soiree around 4:00 PM. He did his opening rounds, making sure everything was clean and orderly from the night before, then went to the back to take in whatever shipments there were that day. He didn't know precisely what was coming when, as it was all according to a schedule that Rod had set up, and Mello hadn't even been running the place for a week yet. As the owner, he was able to recognize things that he had never noticed during the short time he had worked under Rod, such as shipment dates. He had thought he knew the ins and outs of the business, but he apparently had been mistaken.  
There was only one truck. The delivery-person approached him with a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other, with a small box pinned between his elbow and his side. Mello signed as they exchanged dull banter, and then the man handed him the box. "That's all?" asked Mello, surprised.  
"That's all," answered the man as he reclaimed the driver's seat. Mello looked down at the box in his hands. It was small, too small for food or drinks. Only about one foot by one foot, and only a few inches high. He looked at the return address, curious to know it in the case that it gave any indicator to the contents. It was from the chemical company in Texas.  
"That can't be right," he was muttering to himself as he reentered the lounge and the truck left with a deep rumbling. "This can't be right, it can't be right." He found a pocketknife nearby and sliced open the box. Inside were twelve minuscule bottles of cyanide. He stood staring at the bottles in the box. His thoughts were elsewhere, and unconsciously he noticed the reflection of the light behind him on the glass of the bottles. Poison. Rod had been poisoned. Had he been killed here, on his own property? By his own poison? The front door opened and closed, signaling with a hiss of air, and Mello hurriedly closed up the box and deposited it low on a shelf. His employees were ready for work.

Matt put the last bite of a sandwich in his mouth as he donned his jacket and grabbed his keys. He turned off the television, mulling over where he would be going today. With a sigh of frustration, he realized he would have to go even further out of town than he usually did in order to hit any new locations for job openings. He wished he could say he didn't waste time applying to places that he knew had stacks of completed applications a foot tall, but he didn't really leave the apartment enough to know what those places would be. He flipped the lightswitches and darkness fell, but a beam was cast on his goggled face as he opened the door. The chain lock was still secured so he couldn't open the it very far, and he slid the bolt out of the way. Stepping over the threshold, he closed the door and locked it, and when he turned around there were two men lunging for him. He yelped but he put up a fight. One of them went for his gut and the other grabbed him from behind, but he struck out with everything he had. His foot connected with a shoulder, his elbow with an abdomen, and he may or may not have broken somebody's nose, but he quickly went under when the one behind him covered his face.

There had been two more deliveries within the next hour, that Mello had gone back to sign for. He was thankful for that, because they had just run out of gin and were low on pastries, which were delivered frozen. He opened the box of alcohol bottles and brought just the gin back to the bar. When he returned, the man from before was there. As always, Mello greeted him pleasantly, "Hello again, sir. What can I get you today?"  
The man locked eyes with Mello. His were dark, and his face was unshaven today. His voice came from deep in his throat. "We know about him."  
Mello froze. "I'm sorry, sir," he replied. "You know about whom?"  
The man swallowed. "I'll have a gin and tonic." The blonde complied silently, feeling on-edge. He had known something like this was coming. He gave the man his drink, and he continued, "Your dog."  
Giving a nervous laugh, Mello admonished, "I don't have a dog."  
"Oh? That wasn't your dog you were punishing on Wednesday night?" His voice, low and grainy, sent chills down Mello's spine and his eyesight into overdrive. The veins on his corneas, the pockmarks in his skin, a grey hair on his dark head, they were all visible to him now.  
"Who is 'we'?"  
The man ignored the question. "What's more important to you? This lounge? Or your dog?"  
With wide-open eyes and a cocky grin, Mello looked like some kind of demon. "I don't understand."  
"You're dealing with the Family now, kid. You think you can just kill a boss and get away with it?"  
"Hey, I didn't kill _anybody_, and I don't know anything about anybody's family. Now, this is _my_ lounge, so get the hell out of here."  
The man's voice sounded as repulsive as slime to Mello's hypersensitive ears. "Oh, so you don't give a shit about your loyal dog, is that what you're saying?"  
The gun, silver and ivory, shot up from under the countertop and pointed at the man's head. He jumped back, also pulling a gun from the side of his waistband, under a military-green jacket, knocking his barstool backward. The people around them fled to the sides, also sending stools and chairs careening. "Where is he?" Mello exploded, his voice no longer pleasant, but gruff and commanding, and perhaps a little bit desperate.  
"You can't shoot me," returned the man. "It would destroy your business. Or do you really want your dog that much? Anyway, I'm not telling you now, so you have to let me go."  
He was right. Mello hated it, but the man was right. All Mello really wanted was to make sure Matt was safe and then bash this guy's face in. The business was probably already smithereens anyway. He might even get reported for assault. But the people around them seemed to be locked into place for fear of disturbing the scene that unfolded before them, or more likely fear of getting shot by one of the two armed men.  
The man nervously readjusted his grip on the tiny black handgun and licked his lips. "Now. Call him, if that's what you want to do. They won't do anything to him." Mello had hit his speed-dial before the man added, "Yet."  
Matt's voice came shaky through the tiny speaker. "Mello? Mello, are you okay?"  
"You tell me first," was the blonde's reply. His gun was still trained on his intruder.  
Matt chuckled and answered. "I'm okay. But I don't know how long that's gonna last. I'm in a cage or a cell or something. They brought me here blindfolded."  
"Okay, Matt. I'm going to call you back later."  
They both hung up without ceremony. It wasn't suitable to say "goodbye" under these circumstances. It was too final.  
The man asked, "Satisfied?" Mello nodded. "We'll contact you," he declared, and he slowly left the building, never turning his back or lowering his gun. Mello had to let him leave. "The name's McQueen." His messenger, and the representative.

When Mello arrived at their apartment, he analyzed the rooms for any indications of what had transpired. There was nothing. Everything was in its proper place, all exactly where they had left it. The kidnappers must have gotten Matt when he left to job-hunt, then. It seemed unlikely that they were amateurs.  
After the representative had left the lounge, the customers slowly came back to livelihood. Many parties left, but some stayed, wanting to know what had happened and perhaps even hoping to comfort Mello. But he couldn't be helped. He left early, and gave one of the employees the responsibility to close for the night.  
He called Matt again, and although it was frightened and strained, Mello was relieved to hear his voice. "They got you when you left, didn't they?"  
"I think so. I can't quite remember. They took my goggles," he started to complain.  
"Matt, if you can see anything around you, tell me."  
"Um..." Mello heard heavy breathing - Matt's - and fabric sliding against the receiver. "Bars, rocks... a red ball, a couple bowls... towels. There's a sign... I can't quite make it out; it's a little ways off, and dark. 'wolves'...?"  
"Maybe -" Mello stopped speaking when he heard Matt hold his breath and a thud and a muffled voice, as if someone was pounding on the door and shouting. But it ended as suddenly as it came. When Matt blew into the receiver, releasing a breath, he took that as his cue to speak again. "Thank you, Matt. I'll talk to you soon, okay, babe?"  
"Yeah," said Matt, "well..." After an awkward moment he hung up.

Sunday was terribly boring. Matt wasn't around to tease, he had no classes, and The Soiree was closed. He was afraid to call Matt and risk him getting hurt, after the yelling he'd heard on the phone the night prior. He sat in bed watching the same news on repeat and sucking on a chocolate bar, anticipating a message from McQueen to come at any time. He was in a cage, and the sign said 'wolves'. That must mean he was in a zoo. There was only one zoo: the Los Angeles Zoo. But it was big, and busy. How could they have taken Matt in and hidden him with so many people around?  
Eventually, he began flipping channels and watching the same news told by different people. Nobody ever said a peep about the incident yesterday. Nobody had asked Mello's permission for anything to be broadcast, either, so that was a good thing.  
There was a knock on the door. Fear rose in Mello. He had been expecting a phone call or something, but to come to the door was just as well. He answered it.  
About a half-foot below his eye-level were the oculars he hoped he'd never have to meet again. Nate. Blandly, the curly-haired teen announced, "Greetings, Mello." He was in the same huge, white pajamas that he seemed to be perpetually swimming in. A large, blonde man stood behind him.  
"N-Nate... What -?"  
"Mello, I'm here about Ross. And about your... lover."  
"What are you saying?"  
Nate sighed. Mello hated that sigh. It was the kind of sigh that somebody made when they discovered that they had to scrape something putrid off their shoe. "I'm saying, Mello," he declared, "that I'm here to help you."

He disliked being forced to follow Nate, even if it was for the sake of Matt. They weaved through cramped little hallways, and Nate was walking straight down the middle of them, so Mello couldn't stand next to him instead, even if he wanted to. The little prick.  
"Why are we even here?" Mello loudly asked the air around him. "I should be out there, tracking down Matt, not in here herding sheep."  
"Because, Mello," Nate began. The joke seemed lost on him. "We're here. Because this is where we will find him. We have the government's resources at our disposal." The albino opened the door, which made a loud whooshing sound, and brought Mello into the brightly-lit room, full of colored LEDs and machinery. A pile if intricately-stacked dominoes sat on one of the three small tables that had been pushed together, two side-by-side and one on the end.  
"I don't need this," the blonde sniveled to himself.  
"Perhaps not, but at the same time I think it is in both our parties' best interest that we intervene."  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
Nate sighed and took a deep breath, preparing to explain. But before he could continue, the large blonde spoke up, "We have the most advanced security and tracing technology on the market. This is a mafia attack on two of the most intelligent individuals in the world." Mafia? So that was what the messenger meant by ifamily/i. He didn't have to state it for Mello to know that Nate was, of course, the first most intelligent, but he was shocked to hear that both he and Matt were in such high rank in comparison; he was curious to know which of their IQs were higher. "Therefore, this has the potential to become a matter of national security."  
Nate interjected, "Thank you, Lester."  
"National security?" Mello asked, confused. "What does intelligence have to do with national security?"  
A man with curly black hair explained, "Matt is highly skilled in computer programming. He has the potential to become an advanced hacker..."  
Mello blinked. "For the government?"  
"Or for the mafia."  
_Wow._ He'd never realized Matt's exact aptitude and place in the world, and he himself sometimes had to be reminded of Matt's intelligence. He sat around smoking and playing video games, for Christ's sake. But their interactions were far more natural than with others simply because they were on the same intellectual level. It had just become unnoticeable, seamless and flawless compared to any conversation he could have had with a stranger at the grocery store, or even someone he knew since grade school; they were all the same. Mello breathed aloud, almost to himself, "So the fact that Matt has been kidnapped means that they could use him."  
The silence in the room was tense, softened only by the whirr of gears. Nate announced, "Well, Mello, you now know Lester." He gestured toward the blonde, then the black-haired man. "This is Giovanni." Giovanni waved quickly, then looked back down at his computer.  
Mello ignored the introductions. He interrupted, "This isn't a fucking tea party, Nate. This is a kidnapping!"  
"Well, then what do you think you can do without our help?"  
Nate watched as Mello's eye twitched, then he slowly deflated, collapsing onto an aluminum chair and burying his face in his hands. "Nate, I just want my Matt back." His voice was delicate and heartbroken, though he hated for Nate to see him in such a state. This boy was the last person he wanted to show his emotions to. "We made plans," he confided. "We made preparations. And just when I was in the middle of trying to fix things, they all fall apart again."  
The albino boy felt something akin to compassion, but he couldn't quite touch it. It was somewhere beneath the surface, as though he was looking at it trapped under a layer of ice on a pond, or behind frosted glass. His voice came out in the same monotone, almost like he was hearing someone else speak. "Mello," he said, "did someone talk to you?"  
"I don't even know why they took him," Mello admitted, fists gripping his hair in frustration.  
"What did they tell you?"  
"Nothing. That... that they knew about 'my dog'..." Mello stopped. He'd heard himself say those words, and he looked up, realization coursing like fire through his veins as he made the unwelcome connection, and his nostrils flared. He stated to himself gravely, "The sign said 'Wolves'..."  
Giovanni looked up again. "What sign? On a cage?"  
"They intend to degrade him," Nate stated blandly, curling a lock of snow-white hair. "And also to threaten you. A wolf is just a dog with no master."  
Mello growled, "They're fuckin' playing with me."  
"He's in a zoo," Nate announced, like it was a command, reaffirming Mello's conclusion. Then he added, "And they're playing with me, too."  
Mello stared at him with those insane eyes. "What? What would they want with you?"  
"You called me a sheep," Nate reminded him. "Too bad I'm not one for games."

Matt lolled his head on the cold, barren floor. Despite having been abandoned, this place still smelled faintly of animals. A dingy bit of sunlight filtered through a hole in the tarp that covered his cage. He'd been here since he woke up; all he could remember was leaving the apartment. Apparently more significant than this location's relative openness was the fact that he was literally behind bars, caged like an animal and jailed like a criminal. But the symbolism wasn't really that important to Matt. He was bored as hell.  
"Hey!" he yelled. "Can't a guy get a little entertainment around here?" They had taken not only his gun, but also his Gameboy Advance SP off him when they caught him hours ago, and his phone after he'd been caught talking to Mello. It was small enough that they had missed it at first. Now, deprived of these distractions, his environment was unchanging; grey, dreary, dull. His starving intellect desperately craved stimulus.  
"Quit your barkin'!" he heard from somewhere afar.  
"I'm _bored!_" he retorted, his voice a sing-song of _Pay attention to meee!_ It bounced off the walls, and he heard the words reverberating in his ears. "Come on. Beat me, torture me, I don't give a fuck!" he taunted. "Do _something!_"  
A man opened the door at the back of the cage to shout at him, "Shut the hell up!"  
"Fuck you!" Matt answered. He wasn't giving up that easily, and at least this was amusing.  
"You're a genius. You can keep yourself busy, can't you?"  
"What do you think I've been doing up 'til now?" Matt protested. He went on to recite, "There are seventy-six bars on the cell, eighteen holes in the tarp above my head, and twenty-six holes in the red ball that I can see from here. Three are from the animals chewing and the rest are shallow scratches." The mafioso blinked in surprise, unnecessarily attempting to process the figures. "You took my game. Give it back."  
Another man, both muscular and towering compared to Matt, pushed the little henchman aside and crossed through the doorway toward the gamer, who sat cuffed on the concrete floor. When he stood before Matt, his hand raised, just before he saw stars. "Now quit that howling!" the man ordered, lifting him to his feet by the front of his striped shirt. "You little snot!"  
Matt turned and spat a glob of bloody phlegm across the room. He dared to raise is voice in a mimicry of a wolf's howl, "Au-au-awooo!"  
Matt felt cool, smooth plastic touch his fingertips for just a moment before he was again cast to the floor. His head hit the ground, but not hard enough to shake Matt as he curled his head in, trying to protect it. When he had mentally reassessed the state of his body, checking for general nervous signals (he knew he would be bleeding from a couple places on his head), he rolled over onto his knees and scanned for his SP, which had landed with a clatter about two feet from him. He cautiously reached for it - keeping his balance - with restrained hands and picked it up, watching the man stomp back to the mysterious room behind the door.

"I don't understand," Mello stated. There was no hint of weakness or uncertainty, simply a fact.  
"If I am a sheep, and Matt is a wolf, then that means that they are hunting me. They control the wolf, and they can release him on me as they wish."  
So it was symbolism they were after? "But I thought you were smarter than he is. Why would they consider him a threat to you?"  
Nate looked up at him. "I never said I was more intelligent than Matt."  
In that moment of recognition, Mello could have cried. "So he _is_ smarter than you?"  
"His scores seem to indicate that he has the potential to surpass me, yes. If I were to read into the scores further, they may even indicate that he intentionally answered some questions incorrectly in order to maintain normality."  
If Matt was smart enough to do that, then he was definitely smarter than Nate. That would mean he was also smarter than Mello. His eyes started to sting. He felt so humiliated by being here, subservient to Nate and belittled by a set of numbers. It hurt in his chest. But at the same time, he was proud. He was proud of Matt. He wondered if that was what love meant. His voice came out sounding alien, forced over saliva that had blocked his throat when his eyes began to water, "So, how does that help us find Matt?"  
Nate was playing with a toy airplane. It was intensely irritating to Mello, because it seemed as though Nate wasn't taking things seriously, and because it was simply one of his traits. He explained, "We should keep a very stable monitor on our systems. I would assume that they will want Matt to hack them." With the plane still in one hand, he picked up a section of dominoes, carefully so as not to disturb their structure. "They will either try to take information from me..." He dropped the dominoes and flew the little airplane right into the stack, collapsing them. They cascaded over his hand and the edge of the table. "... Or they will try to debilitate the system." He bent over to pick them up, one by one.  
Mello's ears rang with the noise. "What if you're wrong?" he asked. "What if they don't want him to hack it?"  
"We will also trace any phone calls that you receive while you are here."  
"If they're calling to tell me where they are, then it doesn't fucking matter," Mello protested. "I already know what they want! They want me. They want the lounge." He bent to cover his face again.  
"And are you going to give it to them?"  
"Do I have a choice?"  
The palm of someone's hand was heavy and warm on Mello's shoulder. He looked up to see Lester staring softly at him. "That's why you're here. So you don't have to choose." Mello could tell it was awkward for Lester, but he was trying. "You love him." Mello could see in him that Lester knew.  
Mello nodded. His throat felt swollen. "Yeah," he managed to whisper. "Yeah, I do."

It was five-o'-clock in the evening when Mello received the call. They had been wondering whether the kidnappers would just tell them where they were, or be complex and give clues through encrypted e-mails until they reached the final destination. But they wanted the lounge, not Matt in the end, and so what reason would they have to make things so complicated? Then again, if what they wanted was a hacker, then they would keep him for as long as they could.  
But when McQueen's voice came through the phone, the inhabitants of that room were surprised to find that the kidnappers used no tricks, no deception, simply solid, reliable underhandedness. "We have him at the abandoned zoo." Nate's upset expression at the fact that he hadn't considered the abandoned zoo in Griffith Park consisted of squinted eyes and the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips. It was empty, but the outskirts were fairly public, a popular picnic site. It was good balance for a hostage situation, actually. They could hide out in private, but it was such a part of the cityscape that people wouldn't suspect it. McQueen continued, "Bring the deed to the lounge. We will exchange your dog at the wolf exhibit." When Giovanni had traced the call and Nate turned around, Mello was already gone.

"This is why he was always second," Nate was muttering, pouting, to himself in the back of the car. A boxy robot was clutched in his fingertips, barely clear of his enormous unbuttoned sleeves.  
Giovanni peeked back around his seat to speak to to the boy, "He only wanted to know that Matt was safe. He did what anyone else in love would do."  
Near didn't understand such an emotion, and he had no desire to. "Whatever."

Mello was running. He was running as fast as his legs could carry him, and the pain barely touched him; he didn't care about what he could feel, because the pain in his chest was greater. He was going to find Matt. Matt was going to be okay. That was what mattered at that moment. Briefly he realized he wasn't carrying the deed on him, but it didn't matter. Anyway, he trusted Nate and the others to be smart enough to realize he was gone and follow after him in the car. He vaulted over obstacles in his way, adrenaline and testosterone pulsing in him, fueling him. He caught himself reciting a prayer in his head, too quickly to even process the words and take them to heart, but his mind's lips tumbled, frantic, over them, and his desperation poured into them from his soul.  
He reached the front gate, but it was padlocked and taller than he was. He didn't have time to go around and find another entrance. _I don't care._ He wrapped his hands around the bars of the gate and hoisted himself up, securing his foot onto the chain. He had to bounce himself up in order to get high enough to grab the arched bar across the top, then launched himself over it, lifting his arms across his face for protection as he impacted and rolled along the road. His ribcage felt tight, and gravel and sand prickled against his skin. It hurt, and the pain in his legs was catching up with him, but he kept running.

Matt walked casually along the pathway, spinning the cuffs around his index finger. His escape was fairly easy, once he became bored enough to attempt the logistics of said escape. He had found a pin in the cage which he used to pick the lock on the cuffs, then he blocked the huge red ball into the corner with rocks, so that he could stand on top of it and climb the rest of the way up the bars. He left a trail of tobacco smoke and ashes in his wake. "Now," he mumbled to himself, "where the hell am I going?"

Mello had reached a series of cells, most covered by tarps. He had found the large animals section. Because the cages were covered, he came to the conclusion that the kidnappers must be on the indoor side of the wolf exhibit. Apparently Nate's resources had led him to the same location, because Lester, Giovanni, and then Nate came around to the door from the other side to meet Mello, their guns ready.  
"I'll go first," said Lester. "You can follow me, if you want, Mello, but give Giovanni enough bearing that he can get around you if he needs to." Mello nodded, so Lester and then Mello entered the building, followed by the other two.  
They walked as quietly and as slowly as they could, considering the circumstances. Mello's heartbeat was pounding in his chest. Inside the building looked very similar to the outside, with cells recessed into the walls and plaques in front of them. They heard talking, but Mello was too nervous to make out what was being said. They slowly regrouped into a rectangular formation, with Nate and Giovanni retreating to the back. On the left, each cell, devoid of life, came into view one by one, "tigers," "jaguars," "lions," until finally Mello read a plaque that stated clearly, "WOLVES."  
A small round table sat in the center of the barred room, with several men sitting or standing around it. Each one, from right to left as they became visible, looked up to stare at them with stony expressions. Mello's heart sped up in apprehension. When McQueen saw them, he smiled and stood from his seat at the table. "Well, well," he started, "look what the cat dragged in. You have the deed?"  
Mello nodded, less a confirmation than a salutation. "Show me Matt."  
McQueen made a small hand gesture, and two of the men headed for the door connecting the indoor and outdoor cells. "Hey!" one shouted. "He's gone!"  
Mello's glare was an accurate expression of how unstable he happened to be feeling at that moment as he shouted, "Where is he? What did you do with him?" He was going to hurt something. He wanted to break someone. He wanted it to be hard and fast. He wanted to feel their bones as they crushed under his thumb.  
"Nothing!"  
A hand grabbed Mello from behind and spun him around, and in an instant Matt's mouth collided with his own. A frustrated mafioso hurried to the locked door used by zoo staff and opened it, gaping at the scene, alarmed that Matt had escaped and by the two men suddenly sucking face in the middle of the hall. The blonde's shocked eyes fluttered closed as relief washed over him, penetrating deep into his bones, as it seemed. Lester and Giovanni rushed through the open door. Mello's hand clutched at Matt's brunette hair, and there was desperation poured into their kiss. With a final deep plunge, Matt closed his lips and pulled away, giving Mello a smile before dashing after the officers. There was blood on his face. Some of the kidnappers struggled, and the gamer took them for himself, throwing punches. Mello followed, arriving just as Giovanni was cuffing McQueen. His right fist connected with the side of McQueen's face, spattering a small amount of red fluid across the room and Mello as his head shot to his right. It stung Mello's knuckles, but he didn't care. The furious blonde spat, "That's for taking my Matt!" Lester was calling for backup.  
McQueen turned to face him, dribbling blood. He noticed Nate outside the cell. "Who is your friend?"  
When Nate stepped forward, Mello noticed that the overall expressions became slightly less stern and slightly more uncertain. "I am Nate," the boy declared. "I would like to bring to your attention that you are operating under the pretense that Mello killed Rod Ross, and I can assure you that this is not the case."  
A wave of relief swept over Mello. Nate wouldn't have said that unless he had evidence. One of the mafiosi was thinking the same thing, apparently. Skeptically he said, "What's your proof?"  
"Forensics found only Ross' own fingerprints and DNA on the martini glass found at the scene of his death. The same goes for the bottles of cyanide that he used to perform hits. He was also the only one in the building when the cyanide martini that killed him was made, and when it was consumed. In other words, evidence suggests that Ross committed suicide by poisoning his own drink."  
Mello was both happy and sad. He and Matt were in the clear, but suicide was vain and sinful, and Mello could only pray that Rod would be forgiven and his soul saved. "But..." he asked hesitantly, gravitating toward the bars of the cell, "why?"  
"Because I was after him," Nate answered honestly. "I would have had him arrested, and the lounge would have been shut down. He wanted to protect you from that, Mello." Mello's hands rose to wrap around the bars and he stared at the little albino, tears forming in his blue eyes. Nate continued, "He wanted you to have the lounge. He wanted you to have a life. He wanted you to be safe. He didn't want you to be connected to the mafia at all." Dispassionately, he muttered, "It's a good thing we're here, because Matt would have been more valuable to the mafia than Mello would be."  
Everyone except Lester and Giovanni looked up at him and said, "What?"  
Nate's expression did not change. He looked at McQueen. "You wanted him as a hacker, didn't you?"  
McQueen slowly shook his head. "No..." he said, holding the syllable to show his confusion.  
"Then you didn't want him to hack my system?" McQueen shook his head again. "So I'm not the sheep?"  
McQueen's nose crinkled up, and one brow arched. "What?"  
Mello almost had to laugh. Nate persisted, this time asking Matt, "But did you intentionally answer questions incorrectly in the IQ tests?"  
Matt also looked confused. "Why would I wanna do that?"  
"To seem more normal."  
Matt looked at Mello, who did nothing. The gamer shrugged innocently.

Mello had switched the lights of The Soiree, together with turning off the music and was locking the second door when Matt wrapped his arms around his slim body from behind. "I missed you," he said softly, nuzzling the back of his neck.  
The blonde laid his arms on Matt's, weaving their fingers and angling his head to kiss him. "Mmm... I've missed you, too." They swayed in their embrace for a few moments, just enjoying their intimate contact, before Mello thought of something. "Hey..." he interrupted softly, and kissed the palm of Matt's hand, "why don't we celebrate?"  
Matt made a sound of pleasure, "Mmm... And what exactly did you have in mind?"  
Mello freed himself from his lover's grasp with another tender kiss and backtracked toward the rear of the building, then flipped the switches. Matt's senses were once again flooded by techno music and dancing lights. He smiled and moved to the bar, where Mello was working, and was passed a The Soiree exclusive Sex on the Bar. The first drink that Matt had at The Soiree; the sentimentality was not lost on him. The looks they exchanged as Mello made himself a chocolatini were fond. The blonde took a few sips of his beverage, but then left it on his side of the counter, recessed below the top of the bar, and walked around the bar to Matt. His hands massaged the gamer's shoulders in a reversal of the events of their cohabitation process. Matt's relaxed sighs told Mello that it was appreciated. One of Mello's hands slithered around to Matt's stomach, fingering his red and black shirt as he sipped. When the drink was finished, Mello gave him a chance to savor it, and when Matt turned on the stool to face him they exchanged delicate kisses that grew progressively more intense.  
Mello lifted his lover from his seat on the barstool to the top of the bar, then closed the space between them, pressing their bodies together between Matt's thighs. He pulled at the hem of Matt's shirt and Matt in response removed it and dropped it to the floor. Mello watched the muscles flex and slide under his skin, unable to stop himself from touching, the breath pulled out of him by just how delicious his brunette was. There were bruises and imperfections, but it just made him more real. Mello's mouth worshipped the man, teeth on ribs, tongue on pecs, and lips on nipples. The sounds from Matt were wonderful, too, their vibrations seeming to tingle on Mello's skin. But Matt soon moved, and Mello had to halt his ministrations as the gamer bent forward to peel off Mello's apron and tug on his burgundy tie. Mello finished for him, then stepped back. Matt made a small noise of disappointment in his throat as the warmth left him.  
Mello began opening the buttons of his white shirt that glowed blue in the blacklights, one by one, moving sinuously to the house rhythms that still pumped through the speakers, and despite not wearing the leathers or furs as usual, he was pure sex. Slowly, creamy skin and a pink nipple began to show, in sequence with the bass of psi-trance, tantalizing Matt's senses. When the shirt was fully unbuttoned, Mello let it drop as slowly as he could, allowing it to graze his skin and roll down one arm, then with that arm run fingers down his body, baring his throat as the rest of the shirt fell, and alighting predatory eyes on his possession.  
Matt released the air in his lungs slowly. It was very sexy, and even though he knew Mello planned to finish undressing yet, the gamer couldn't resist robbing him of the spotlight. He locked eyes with the blonde before running his finger into Mello's chocolatini and lifting it along his chest, circling chocolate sauce around one papilla, and watched the lust rise in Mello's gaze. Like a vampire, the strobes revealed him to be suddenly but inches from Matt's body before he was licking and sucking at the vodka and chocolate, his hands at Matt's fly, as he slowly climbed onto the stool that Matt had just vacated. Matt bent his head to kiss him after he finished his treat. Mello tangled his fingers into his hair, forcing their lips together so that their tongues could struggle. Matt's hot muscle didn't bother fighting with Mello's for long, instead caressing the roof of his mouth and earning from him a guttural sound of pleasure.  
Mello climbed further up so that he crouched on his knees on the stool, trying not to break the kiss but failing just for a moment. Now he was just taller than Matt, tilting the man's chin up and effectively stopping Matt from putting his tongue into Mello's mouth so that his dominance could not be challenged. Matt's hands started for Mello's belt, and Mello let him remove it before he leaned him back in order to gain enough leverage to begin turning Matt sideways onto the countertop. Matt understood and complied, making himself as comfortable as possible and touching the blonde's hip and arse as he climbed into position above him. Cautiously so that neither of them fell or lost balance, Mello finished removing their trousers (after retrieving a little bottle of lube from his pocket that he had moved from his bag before starting on the drinks), and Matt helped when he could.  
"Matt," Mello breathed, and he thought perhaps the brunette was already too far gone, before he looked up blearily and smiled. "Matty, I'm going to do things a little differently this time." He watched the other man carefully, lovingly, and Matt stared back in kind, as he dripped the lubricant onto his fingers. Mello reached back to prepare himself, and he saw realization dawn in Matt's eyes. In a few minutes' time he was lowering himself onto Matt's erection. The pain was exquisite, punishment for nearly losing the one he cared for so vividly. Matt tightly clutched the edges of the counter as Mello steadily began to ride him, gradually fitting more and more of Matt into himself. Their voices slurred together, and they no longer mattered, because neither of them needed words or sounds to know what the other felt.  
It might have been the first time that they treated one another with such respect during sex, the first time both of them felt so connected, trusting, and committed. It was real this time. It was gentle, but not too gentle, because it was deep. It was earnest and honest and true. And that was something worth declaring new and interesting.  
"I love you, I love you, I love you," Mello gasped with every thrust, between kisses, keeping with the tempo of the music that was hardly even real any longer. _I need you, I can't go on without you._ Tears of relief ran down their faces and mingled on Matt's cheeks, flashing in the light.  
"Mello." Matt pulled the blonde down to unite their mouths in a passionate frenzy as he came hard, and two more thrusts brought Mello to the same climax, splattering across their bellies, groaning desperately into Matt's throat and touching the core of him with its reverberations. For a few seconds, breathing was a just waste of time.  
"I love you..." Mello collapsed against the brunette below him, clinging to him like a lifeline as the tears dried on his face.  
"I love you... Mello..." Matt's hands, one on his lower back and the other around his shoulder, were heavy and gentle.  
"I love... you..."  
Matt's thumbs rubbed Mello's skin in circles as he consoled softly, "Shh... Mello, I love you, too. It's okay."  
The blonde cried sleepily. "It's not okay! They could have hurt you!"  
"But they didn't. I'm okay." His voice became slightly firmer, "Mello." Mello pressed even more tightly against him in response. "Let's get dressed and go home."  
Mello shut his eyes tightly until the tears left them. He nodded. "Yeah. Let's go home."

It was a little different for a Monday.


End file.
